Bishop flicked on the radio. “This is Five Five Alpha calling Delta Five. Advising detour to drop zone co-ordinates zebra one, tango delta fifteen. One visitor to drop, repeat one visitor to drop. Confirm.”
The headset static buzzed in Dracup’s ear. Then: Five Five Alpha, Delta Five, confirm. Repeat, Delta Five confirm.
Dracup looked at Bishop. His mouth was dry. “Thanks.” It seemed hardly adequate.
“I must be out of my mind,” Bishop muttered. “If you get yourself killed, don’t blame me.”
Chapter 37
As the sound of the Chinook’s engines receded Dracup took stock of his surroundings. It was late afternoon and the heat from the sun was intense. Bishop had given him a canister of water and two bars of chocolate. As far as the eye could see there was not a soul in sight, and he could see a long way across the flat alluvial plain, with its tussocks of rain-deprived grass and scattering of distant woodland. Above the treetops a shifting pattern of birds wheeled and circled in the still, blue air, their alien cries reinforcing his sense of solitude. Around him lay the remains of ancient Kish, although the only tangible signs were some distance away: a rough rectangular block, doubtless the foundations of some once significant building, and here and there, protruding from the arid soil, the exposed remains that marked the sites of previous excavations.
The landscape for perhaps two or three kilometres was broken by a number of hill-like swellings, each straining skyward as if the earth itself was bursting to reveal the secrets of the past. These were the ‘Tells’, the mounds that concealed the buried buildings of a once thriving city. The closest of these seemed innocuous enough, rising gently to a height of thirty or so metres and surrounded by the detritus of its own destruction. Dracup set the box down and picked up a fragment of reddish stone. It was well crafted, the mason’s art still visible in the turned corners and gentle lines. Perhaps it had been the corner piece of some decorative window, leaned upon by generations of adults and children alike before time and disaster had caught up with it.
He replaced the broken shard amongst the debris and, tucking the box under his arm, began to walk slowly around the Tell. Was it his imagination, or did he feel a faint vibration? He set Farrell’s box down and opened it, ran his hand across Alpha’s markings. He withdrew his finger sharply. The metal was hot, hotter than it should have been even in the high temperature of the plain. Dracup resealed the lid and frowned. The answer to this new puzzle would have to wait.
He wondered if Fish’s analysis was accurate, that beneath this area lay concealed a subterranean anomaly, a leftover from the upheaval caused by the great flood. He paused to take a sip of water, resisting the temptation to pour the clear liquid over his perspiring head. Far off by the distant line of trees some animal was moving sluggishly with lowered head and defeated posture under the ineffectual shade. Dracup squinted to identify it. Perhaps a wolf, or a jackal? He wiped dry lips with the back of his hand and watched until it disappeared. He shook the canister. He’d have to take it easy; he wouldn’t last long out here without water.
But then he didn’t expect to be alone for long. The explosion at the airport would represent only a minor setback to Potzner’s obsessive mission. Dracup was sure he’d read Potzner correctly; the man was living on a razor edge, his entire focus narrowed to a single objective by some tragedy of circumstance. As Dracup resumed his exploration of the Tell, he considered Moran’s unexpected appearance and the effect it had had on Potzner. The Irish policeman’s tenacity was impressive, but Dracup felt sure that, had the rocket not interrupted the proceedings, Potzner would have responded to Moran’s intrusion equally effectively. Nevertheless Dracup felt confident that Moran would find his way to Kish. Somehow. He didn’t know why he felt this way about Moran’s involvement. He just had a growing certainty that the DCI had a part to play, even if the nature of that part was still unclear.
With that reassuring thought, he came upon an area of rock and rubble packed loosely up against the main body of the Tell. The blocks were large, hewn monoliths, roughened by age but part of a once mighty building, piled high to a distance of perhaps twenty or thirty metres. Were they the remains of some external stairway? Dracup skirted the site with a rising feeling of awe. Whoever had built this knew a thing or two about construction. He rested on a boulder and thought of Lalibela. There was some similarity between these reddish layers of worked stone and the strange, sunken architecture he had witnessed in the Ethiopian highlands. The cradle of civilization, he thought. I’m standing in the place where life began again after the flood. He shielded his eyes and squinted at the colossus rising above him. And perhaps in a place that predates even that.